


Bitch

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bestiality, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Inflation, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So here's some horrible 'please heed the warnings and tags' fic for you as I was going HRM this character is hot and that character is hot and what happens if we JAM THEM TOGETHER?  Apparently...this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitch

Sixshot gave a pleased growl under his mask.  “Enjoy this, don’t you?” Beneath him, Deadlock’s smaller frame was heaving, the optics narrow red slits that tried—futilely—to mask the desire roiling off the rest of his body.  

He shifted his weight, grinding his pelvic frame against Deadlock’s. Meetings at High Command were normally so boring, but he had to say that this time, he was pleasantly surprised. Deadlock and he had somehow clicked, resonated at some level that defied communication, something that had Deadlock loiter after the meeting, meeting Sixshot’s gaze with a sort of hot challenge.

Which had ignited into this: the surly little Decepticon writhing beneath him, snarling and needing release, needing to be controlled, to have his own desire made someone else’s will.

Sixshot was glad to oblige.

He rocked his weight back, unsnapping his interface hatch, his spike stabbing between them. He lowered his weight, laying the spike’s mass against Deadlock’s belly, letting them both feel the size of it slick and hard. “Want it?” he asked as Deadlock wriggled, trying to tip his hips up, his own bared equipment slick with lubricant, as its own testimony.

“You do, don’t you.” Deadlock wanted it, and Sixshot wanted it, too. And he made them both wait, pressing his mass down upon them, compressing his spike between their bodies, a slick hardness that promised everything. “You need someone to do this for you, don’t you? As hard as you think you are, what you really want is for someone to dominate you.”

Small hands caught at his shoulders, sharp and demanding, the dentae baring in a snarl. As though Deadlock were in any place to demand.  “Do it,” Deadlock snarled, trying to grind against the spike. 

Sixshot pulled away. “Turn over.”

“Get slagged.”

Sixshot laughed. Cute. Really. Exactly how he wanted it. “That attitude get you far in the gutters?” It was a goad, rather than an insult, one designed to get just the right amount of sullen outrage on the face, distract the little grounder as he snatched one of the wrists, and pulled it, hard, flipping Deadlock with a negligent ease onto his belly, his other hand then hooking under the hip, hauling Deadlock’s aft up against him, his spike making a warm, wet trail on the other’s aft. Sixshot rocked his hips back, letting his spike just nose into the valve, the head spreading the pleated mesh of the lining.

 Deadlock gave a shuddering moan even in this position overcome by need, rocking back, trying to take more of the phase sixer’s thick spike inside him, even as he buried his helm on his wrist, as though denying his own wanton lust.

Sixshot stilled him, keeping just the spike’s head in the valve for a long moment, feeling the calipers flutter and shift. Oh, he wanted this, too, but this wasn’t quite enough. Not with Deadlock. He could go further. And he wanted to.

He pulled back, letting his spike pop out of the valve, giving Deadlock one last push down between his shoulders as he transformed, pressing his weight on Deadlock’s back before the grounder could think of moving, his wolf mode pressed against the still-warm back struts.

He gave a pleased, possessive growl, his new teeth biting on the back of Deadlock’s collar armor, his spike refinding the valve, hips straining against the tight frame of Deadlock’s aft.

The spike pushed in, less gently, more urgently, into the narrow, slick channel of the valve, and he paused for a moment, adjusting his hips, his paws on the sides of Deadlock’s spaulders.  Deadlock groaned, even as the valve clutched around the spike, as though wanting to keep it still, seated deep, the spike’s tip pressing against the ceiling node of his valve.

Sixshot echoed the groan, as he began moving, his wolf hips pistoning fast and deep against Deadlock, feeling the frame twitch and quiver with every thrust.  “Like it?” he asked, the vocalizer through his wolf mode dropping his voice to a guttural growl.

An inchoate sound, fighting with truth, the other’s hips bucking back against him, trying to quicken the tempo.

It wouldn’t take long: Deadlock’s grudging desire was too much, and it had been so long that he’d done this, let himself go. He could already feel the bulge at the base of his spike begin to swell. Anything else he might have said got lost in his own growling, his mouth hard on the back of Deadlock’s neck, panting hot air over the helm.

He managed—barely—a wild sound as he overloaded, giving one last thrust, the knot at his spike’s base jamming into the valve, locking them together as the transfluid began pumping through his spike.

Deadlock’s spinal struts arched against him, helm thrown back, howling as the overload hit  him, and then kept hitting, each jet of transfluid rolling him over and over into a wild ecstasy. He quivered, hips jerking, but he was unable to pull away, the knot lodged inside him, wave after wave of fluid hitting him, filling his valve, straining the lining’s mesh. He thrashed, shoulders jamming against Sixshot’s chassis, hands ragged claws on the berth in a sort of electric delirium.

The peak began to fade for Sixshot, his overload in delicious, ebbing waves, as he released the bite from Deadlock’s collar armor, his own vents panting down against the smaller mech.  He shifted one paw downward, pressing it against Deadlock’s abdominal plating, feeling the swelling of the valve’s strained lining pushing Deadlock’s systems out of line. His growl dipped to a sultry purr, as Deadlock twitched, the valve’s calipers clenching around the spike. “Think, Deadlock,” he murmured, his wolf’s tongue flicking against the finialed helm. “Can you feel how big you are, filled? You like it?”

Deadlock gave a soft moan.

“Anyone who sees you is going to know, aren’t they? How hard you took it, how much you enjoyed it.” He pressed on the swell of the belly against his hand, to make his point.

The smaller mech writhed, half in outrage, half still in the throes of wicked desire.

“I’ve been to Earth, Deadlock. Ever been there?  Because they have a name for the thing that takes it from a wolf.”  He laughed, licking along the finial with his long tongue. “They call it a bitch.”


End file.
